


Plus One

by Aedemiel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aedemiel/pseuds/Aedemiel
Summary: Anathema and Newt invite Aziraphale and Crowley to their wedding... as a couple. Crowley takes offense and makes a mess of things.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91





	Plus One

The food had been eaten, the wine had been drunk and the waitstaff were dropping increasingly strong hints that perhaps it was time for them to vacate their table. This was the fourth time Aziraphale had invited Crowley to dinner and the demon realized they were settling into something of a routine. Hard to believe the Armageddon had been thwarted just two weeks ago.

“I’ve got a rather nice port back at the shop,” Aziraphale said lazily, leaning back on his chair and smiling.

“Sounds good to me,” Crowley agreed. Aziraphale watched him unfold out of his seat, all sharp angles and long limbs. “Let’s go find a cab.”

Miraculously, there was one dropping off a passenger just outside the restaurant. Angel and demon, side by side, jumped in and Aziraphale gave directions to his bookshop. London whisked by as the driver negotiated busy streets, cyclists with a death wish and the occasional tourist too naive to understand that pedestrian crossings were more of a suggestion, really.

Aziraphale paid the driver and bid Crowley sit on the couch at the back of the store while he prepared their drinks. Crowley did as he was told and flopped down onto the soft old leather couch, sighing happily. Freedom. He’d had no idea it would taste so good.

Aziraphale came through with the port and stopped for a moment to admire the rich ruby hue in his glass. He cast an eye over his friend. _His friend, would he ever get over that?_ Crowley was sprawled across the couch like a giant spider. He’d never been fat, but recently he’d seemed to be down to bare bones.

“You’re too thin,” he said, frowning.

“What? Rubbish. Just because I don’t stuff my face with cake everyday…” Crowley saw the look on Aziraphale’s face and stopped. If the angel had seemed offended he probably would have kept going. But instead, he looked hurt, and Crowley realized that he would be willing to do almost anything to prevent that face from looking hurt ever again. It was an uncomfortable thought and so he squirmed in his seat, trying to figure out how to soften what he’d said.

“Gabriel told me to lose the flab,” Aziraphale said mournfully. He rubbed one hand over his belly. Crowley tried not to think about stroking his own hands over that soft flesh. His hands quivered.

“You could just miracle it away,” Crowley suggested, making a gesture in the air. He hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t do that, in fact he was sure he wouldn’t.

“That would be cheating,” the angel declared. 

“S’not,” Crowley countered. “And anyway, who cares? I like you the way you are.”

Aziraphale looked at him with wide-open eyes. _Vulnerable eyes,_ Crowley thought. “You do?”

Crowley turned away, unable to hold the angel’s limpid blue eyes as he said, “Yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He heard the angel go still, which was stupid because how could he possibly hear something like that. But he could.

“Take the glasses off,” Aziraphale said softly.

“What? Nah,” Crowley felt Aziraphale sit down beside him and place a hand on his arm. 

“Please?”

Grumbling, Crowley took off the shades and tossed them carelessly onto the coffee table. “Happy?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. He caught Crowley’s gaze and held it. “Say it again.”

“Say what again,” Crowley deflected. He picked up his glass of port and swigged from it in as uncouth a manner as possible to distract Aziraphale from this line of thought. But the angel was not to be deterred.

“I need you to say it again,” he insisted.

“You could just miracle it away,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding. 

Aziraphale’s eyes were intent. “I need to hear it again.”

“Ugh,” Crowley said. “Why?”

“Because it’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever said to me and… and I want to hear it from you again, but this time with you looking into my eyes. How else will I know you’re telling the truth?”

Crowley would happily have dunked himself willingly into holy water rather than do what Aziraphale asked. But neither could he deny the angel anything. He’d do it, that didn’t mean he was going to give in too easily.

“That’s your problem right there,” he drawled. “Demon, remember? I never tell the truth.”

To his dismay, that did not have the desired effect. He’d expected Aziraphale to fight back, try and goad Crowley into doing what he wanted. Instead, the angel’s face crumpled and for a moment Crowley feared he might actually cry. But then his head came up and he stood up, walking over to the fireplace with his back to the demon.

_Fuck._

“Aziraphale,” he said. “I was only messing with you. Come on.”

He saw the angel’s head bob as if in agreement. “Very well.” He turned to face Crowley but did not return to the couch. His entire body was stiff, his face carefully blank. “I received an invitation to Anathema and Newton’s wedding. Actually, _we_ did. It was addressed to both of us.”

Grateful to be let off the hook, the import of what Aziraphale had just said did not fully register. “OK, cool.” He paused as the idea sank into his brain. “Wait, what?”

“I said it was addressed to both of us,” the angel informed him, his voice cool and a little flat.

“So, not you plus one and me plus one?”

“No.”

“Uh.” Deciding that was singularly unhelpful to expressing how he felt about this state of affairs, he added, “Bit presumptuous, eh?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him, an expressive act more typical of Crowley than the angel, but said nothing.

“Well, I mean, not like there’s anyone else for you to go with, I s’pose.” Aziraphale managed to go even more rigid, something Crowley would have described as impossible.

“Very magnanimous of you,” Aziraphale said distantly. He looked meaningfully at the clock. “My word, look at how late it is.”

Crowley knew how to take a hint when he wanted to. Insouciantly, he settled even more deeply into the couch, wondering how this conversation had veered off course so badly. _Oh, yeah, because you’re being a dick._

He wasn’t sure if he could rescue it tonight. Aziraphale would come around eventually, he always did. But sometimes that took years, centuries even. Crowley wasn’t too keen on spending the next century alone. 

“Yeah, obviously,” he said, not sure where he was going with this. “Don’t want to keep you up past your bedtime.” _Fucking Hell, that was not the right thing to say._ He stood up and sauntered to the door, or at least as close as he could manage to a saunter given how agitated he felt. To his surprise, Aziraphale followed him.

“I need to lock up behind you,” the angel said to his questioning glance. Crowley thought it best not to point out that he didn’t need to physically move to do that. Impulsively, which was never a good way to go about things but was a habit he just couldn’t shake, he spun around quickly and before Aziraphale could move out of reach, cupped his jaw with one hand. 

He stared straight into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I like you the way you are.” And then he disappeared off into the night.

* * *

_I like you the way you are._ Aziraphale gulped, anxiety ratcheted up to maximum. His hands were shaking. He locked the door with clumsy fingers, coming very close to cursing as he fumbled the latch. 

_Why did Crowley have to be such an arsehole sometimes?_ Cursing in his head didn’t count, he decided. _It’s my own fault. I should have taken the compliment and not tried to force his hand to repeat it. Maybe I’m the arsehole._

What had really stung was Crowley’s annoyance with the wedding invitation. Why wouldn’t Anathema invite them as a couple, it wasn’t like it meant they were a _couple._ It struck him that maybe Crowley did have someone else he’d prefer to invite. His stomach turned to concrete.

Unable to deal with the inside of his head any longer, he bustled about tidying the already immaculate shop and then made tea and watched it go cold.

* * *

Crowley had managed to stick his foot in his mouth before. He’d even managed both feet at the same time, on more than one occasion where Aziraphale was concerned. Dammit, the angel was touchy. 

_Or maybe you’re an abusive asshole who can’t keep himself from insulting the only friend you have?_

Crowley felt this was unnecessarily harsh, but apparently, his brain wasn’t finished berating him. _Aziraphale could find new friends. He’s likable and interesting, even if a little bookish and overly intellectual. Who the fuck wants you as a friend?_

He hadn’t realized how much he disliked himself until that moment. Since introspection was hardly a natural state for Crowley, he went and yelled at the plants for a while to make himself feel better.

* * *

A new day dawned, cold but sunny and ideal for walking, thinking and duck-feeding. Aziraphale had struggled with the idea of sending a regretful apology declining the invitation to the wedding, but it seemed rather rude and he really did want to go.

The ducks were uninterested in his dilemma, only in the bread he had in his pocket. _If you don’t go, that would give Crowley his plus one._ On the heels of that thought, _Crowley could decline and you could have the plus one… but go alone._ Those two ideas had competed in his head for hours and he was getting nowhere. Loneliness biting at him, he turned his attention to the ducks, two of whom were fighting over a particularly large crumb. He felt Crowley approach before he saw him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” the demon said. Uninvited, he sat down on the bench, sprawling out to take up maximum space as usual. Aziraphale waited for him to say more, but the demon stayed silent. Aziraphale was good at long silences, it was Crowley who couldn’t resist the urge to fill the quiet with sound, usually the sound of his own voice. Sure enough, he was able to wait Crowley out. 

“I was a complete fucker, last night,” he said. His eyes were covered by his sunglasses but Aziraphale could hear the sincerity in his voice. The angel realized that was all the apology he was going to get and figured he might as well be at peace with it. Because the alternative was spending untold years alone as Crowley made himself scarce the way he always did when they fought. 

“I don’t treat you very well,” the demon observed. Since that was demonstrably true, Aziraphale remained silent. “Y’know I don’t mean it, yeah?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what that meant. He turned it over in his head. Apparently, his lack of response was getting to Crowley, since he hadn’t so much as greeted the demon since he’d arrived.

“Fucking Hell, angel, you’ve got to tell me what to do,” Crowley pleaded. 

“You can do whatever you please,” Aziraphale told him, shoulders set and back straight. 

“I won’t go to the wedding if you don’t want me to. I’d understand. Don’t like weddings anyway.” 

If Crowley thought that was helping, he was stupider than Aziraphale thought he was. He decided he would put the demon out of his misery.

“You are forgiven,” he said, unable to keep a needle of bitterness from his tone. 

“S’always this way,” Crowley observed. He pulled off his shades and stared at Aziraphale, eyes wide and pained. “I abuse you, you forgive me. Did you ever think that maybe you shouldn’t?”

“Sometimes I don’t want to,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I’m an angel, I’m supposed to be forgiving.”

“Let’s start again,” Crowley suggested. “Ask me to accompany you to the wedding.”

Aziraphale blinked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Is there someone else you’d rather invite?”

“Well, no, I suppose not but…” Aziraphale faltered. “Shouldn’t you be asking me?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, a little sulkily. He took Aziraphale’s hand. “I’ve got this wedding m’s’posed to go to. D’you wanna come?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. “Very eloquent.” At the pouty look on Crowley’s face, he added, “I’d love to accompany you.”

“Good,” Crowley said and then frowned. “We’ll have to get you some new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Aziraphale said indignantly. 

“It’s rude to outshine the bride,” Crowley told him, sliding along the bench and cupping Aziraphale’s face in both hands. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful.” He leaned forward and kissed him, a soft, sensuous kiss that made the angel shudder.

“What am I supposed to say when you do that?” Aziraphale breathed.

“Tell Anathema we’re coming to the wedding. You plus one.” he paused and took a deep breath. “You plus me.”


End file.
